


Closer to God

by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, PlayingChello



Series: Roleplays with Harley [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/pseuds/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: Noctis is an omega protected viciously by a few trusted alphas, the only ones Regis trusts near his vulnerable son. But when the moment they've all feared finally is upon them, things get a little dicey.





	Closer to God

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote Ignis, [Harley](http://www.twitter.com/scientiasins) wrote Noctis.

Ignis has never much cared for the animalistic nature of the world. He’s an alpha, yes. But he never really felt the pull for the whole mating thing. He’s happy enough working for the most notorious crime family as personal security. His charge: the heir to the vast empire. He likes his job. It’s not terribly dangerous, considering. He spends most of his time doing two of the things he enjoys most–cooking and driving.

Noctis Lucis Caelum. Heir to the Lucian crime family. His father, Regis, hired Ignis as personal protection and glorified babysitter. He’s been at Noctis’ side since. Years.

He was there when the boy presented.

_No one_ expected Noctis, son in a long line of alphas, to present as an omega. And yet... So Regis had hired another personal security guard and became _much_ more protective over his son. With the sole exception of Ignis and Gladiolus and whoever he absolutely had to come in contact with, Noctis was isolated from alphas. This led to a very… isolated young man.

The poor boy was resigned to existing almost exclusively in the presence of Gladio and Ignis. And his only friend, an omega named Prompto. It must be a lonely existence. Though, Ignis is in the same position and finds himself perfectly content. But he still can’t help but feel bad for Noctis, forced to be isolated only because he can become so vulnerable were a heat to hit in public.

But that’s none of Ignis’ business. He’s hired to care for and protect Noctis. And that is what he shall do.

\--

Noctis is… well protected. 

He doesn’t personally believe he needs it, but he is. He’s guarded day in and day out by two men he’s known since he was a child, and in this lifetime, they’ve proven to really be his only friends. Because, though he doesn’t need to be watched over like he’s absolutely defenseless, he is sorely in need of friends.

Prompto is his only other friend, outside of Ignis and Gladio. He’s an omega, just the same as Noctis, because the risk of having an alpha with less restraint than Gladio and Ignis is too great. He supposes it makes sense, and he supposes he can understand why his father would make such decisions, but even still, the loneliness can sting. 

Sometimes, though, Ignis proves to be invaluable in dulling the sting. He is the one constantly beside Noctis, the one who more regularly cares for him. The one who makes him dinner, the one who makes sure he studies, and the one who makes sure he gets from point A to point B on time. Outside of Prompto and Gladio, Ignis is his truest friend. 

His truest friend that, recently, he’s taken to bothering the shit out of.

Noct can’t say for sure exactly what’s gotten into him, these past several days. All he knows is that he’s moody, even more sleepy than usual, and a _lot_ more mouthy than he was not long ago. He’s brushed it off several times as just being hungry, or tired, but that’s never been it. Not quite. But Noct isn’t particularly keen on telling Ignis, ‘Hey, Specs, I’ve been feeling weird these past few days and need you to cut me some slack.’ Honesty like that has never been a real strong point. So instead, he’s tried to keep it on the low, thinking that it might just… go away one of these days.

\--

Ignis has only ever considered his job to be a bit monotonous at worst. Noctis can be spoiled and grumpy and stubborn, but it never really bothered Ignis. He’s patient and more often than not enjoys the order and the control of the housework. He especially enjoys cooking, even if Noctis is notoriously difficult to cook for.

But lately Noctis has become… frustrating.

It’s like Noctis has made it his personal mission to find the alpha’s breaking point. To make him yell at him and get him truly angry. Which is no easy task. Ignis prides himself in his level headedness. If Noctis wants a reaction, he would be better off going for Gladio, a man with a temper quick to burn hot.

Ignis walks into Noctis’ apartment that morning to find it an absolute disaster _again_. And, no surprise, the young heir is asleep. He’s been sleeping a lot recently, but that isn’t terribly uncommon. Noctis does not agree with mornings and likes his sleep. So Ignis simply sighs, starts picking up, and gets to cooking.

Once the apartment looks livable again and there’s breakfast sizzling pleasantly on the stove, Ignis braves the wrath of a sleepy Noctis to wake him up. He opens the blinds, pulls back the covers, and announces, “Noctis, it’s late. Breakfast is nearly ready.”

\--

Noctis hasn’t ever been easy to rouse from sleep. Today is no exception to that. 

Even when Ignis opens the blinds, and even when the smell of breakfast wafts through his apartment and _even when_ the blankets are yanked back, he hardly budges. Only rolls onto his side with an exaggerated groan, burying his face in his pillow. “Jus’ bring it to me,” Noct mumbles, “Not gettin’ up.”

He figures Ignis can’t be too upset with his refusal, because this happens most every morning. So he stays perfectly put, making grabs for his blanket, eyes still shut. Eventually, he gives, content to just lay on his mattress. “Not hungry, either, actually.”

\--

The demand to be catered to doesn’t bother Ignis in the slightest. He’s heard that one before. Many times. He’s even succumbed to it once or twice. But Noctis’ claim that he isn’t hungry? That worries him. He could be sick. He hardly eats enough as it is, at least, nutritionally.

“Noctis…” Ignis gave up calling him sir some time ago, at least when they’re in a more or less casual environment. Around his father he is still painfully formal. He sits down on the edge of the bed and his hand floats over to Noctis’ forehead. It’s a little warm, though not terribly so. A slight fever. “You’re a bit warm. Are you feeling alright?”

Ignis may tell himself that his care for his charge is out of duty. That he does it for the paycheque he receives. (It is a very hefty paycheque). But the truth is that he cares about Noctis. That’s the kind of thing that happens when you are hired at a young age and practically grow up with your charge. He started really caring for his wellbeing. So it’s only natural that his stomach does a bit of a twist as he worries whether or not Noctis is growing ill.

\--

“Mostly,” Noct mutters, his voice muffled by his pillow. Ignis’ worry is easily brushed aside, because he doesn’t feel very warm, nor very out of the ordinary. He’s just tired, not hungry, and starting to feel a little bit moody. Already. Though if he had to pin it on something, Noctis figures it’s the very rude awakening he received way too early. “‘M just not hungry.”

Noctis snatches up his blankets, throwing them over himself the best he can with Ignis still on the edge of the bed. “Ten more minutes.” he knows this effort is going to prove fruitless, or at least most likely will, but he figures it’s worth a shot. 

Absently, Noct wonders if they’re on something of a schedule today. Two seconds after that wonder, he decides it doesn’t matter, because his father knows as well as everyone that his constant determination to sleep gets in the way of just about everything.

\--

‘Just not hungry.’

Ignis doesn’t know if that’s just a ploy to get him to leave him alone or if it’s actually true. But his elevated temperature bothers him. And there’s something else nagging at the back of his mind that he can’t quite place.

Noctis attempts to cover himself once more and Ignis is quick to pull the blankets away yet again. He ignores the plea of ten more minutes. They have a meeting to go to at the request of Noctis’ father and Ignis does not want to be late.

“You know we have a meeting to get to and you still need to shower. You can eat or not, though it’s quite good, if I do say so myself.” Not to mention he might be a little hurt if Noctis really does turn it down. He enjoys seeing Noctis enjoy the meals he prepares.

\--

Noctis lets out his second exaggerated groan of the morning when the blankets are stolen from him once more, and huffs. “Well,” he just wants to keep sleeping. “Bein’ a few minutes late won’t kill us. I can shower in ten, we’ll be fine,” Probably. His father has always been kind, at least to Noctis, and he doesn’t really have any worries. “You can blame me if we’re late.”

Slowly but surely, Noct sits up, blinking himself awake. It’s hardly early in the morning, but it feels like dawn, and his bed is warm and still so inviting. “Can’t you call me in sick? I got a fever, according to you. You can’t get me outta this?”

Noct even goes so far as to force a very fake cough, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The answer would probably be no, but he held out hope, praying just this once Ignis could put that good lying talent of his to use. Besides, it wasn’t a _lie_ \- he did, supposedly, feel warm. So it was more… A small fib.

\--

Ah, Noctis’ notorious blame it on me speech. The one that almost never (alright, maybe more than never) works. “Noctis there are so many reasons I cannot simply blame it on you. Not the least of which is the threat of my execution.”

Though, the thought of calling him in sick does make Ignis pause. That's not… the worst idea Noctis had come up with. He is warm and Ignis is worried it could become worse. And the meeting isn't terribly important, it's not like there won't be another.

“Tell you what, you get up and shower and dress yourself, and if you still feel warm, I'll ask your father if your presence is strictly necessary.” It's the best he can do and he knows Noctis will take the bait. Just as he knows he may as well call the boss now. He's already given into Noctis’ whim.

\--

“You drive a hard bargain, Specs,” Noctis yawns, moving to drag himself lazily out of bed to go for his dresser. He grabs the usual compilation of all black, and tosses it to hang over his shoulder. “But I guess that’ll work.” 

The young heir does as he’s told, going into the bathroom and gently kicking the door shut behind him. He showers, mostly just standing under the water trying to rinse off the last of sleep’s hold; But the heat from the water seems to follow him out, after the fact. Even when Noct cracks the door open to let some of the steam out, his skin still feels warm down to the bone, uncomfortably tight. Regardless, he dresses, hoping exiting the bathroom will cool him down.

Breakfast, though, the more he thinks about it, actually doesn’t sound so great. It’s not because the meal itself doesn’t sound good - it does, and it even _looks_ good - it’s just… The idea of food makes Noct’s stomach tighten uncomfortably, and he realizes that god _damn it all_ , he’s probably getting sick. “You might wanna make that call,” Noctis says when he enters the living room, “Think it’s a couch-ridden kind of day.”

\--

The moment Noctis disappears into the bathroom, Ignis is already on his phone. First, he calls Gladio. He needs to let the man know that Noctis will be spending his day at home in bed and he can have the day to himself if he so desires. No point in the chance of both of them getting sick taking care of Noctis.

His next call is to Cor, one of the personal protection units to Regis. He spins his tale of Noctis’ illness, that he’s far too sick to leave his apartment and that he needs rest. That he shouldn’t risk getting the rest of the family sick. Ignis leaves Cor to tell Regis. Regis will call if he disagrees with the plan, but Ignis knows he would rather his son be well. He has always spoiled the boy a bit.

When Noctis emerges from the bathroom, Ignis can see that moving has only gotten him worse. He looks pale with unusually red cheeks. And there’s a sheen to his skin that has to be sweat, despite having just come from a shower. “You don’t look well at all. Lay down, I’ll get you some water.” Ignis immediately begins filling a glass with cool water before following Noctis to the couch.

Only, getting closer, Ignis notices something odd. Something is… off. And not just in the way Noctis’ eyes look glassy and unwell. Not just that he seems to be getting more ill by the second.

He _smells_ differently.

Ignis had long ago become fairly accustomed to the enticing smell of the omega. He has plenty of restraint and no real interest in mating, so it was easy enough. It’s part of the draw of he and Gladio as guardians. They have the restraint and discipline to keep calm around an omega without a mate. But this isn’t normal. He smells _different_. It’s a faint difference, hardly there. But it is. And it makes Ignis’ head swim a bit.

He sets the glass down and takes a few steps back. “Drink.”

\--

Noctis makes himself a spot on the couch, taking a blanket from off the back of it and settles in. He doesn’t feel _too_ unwell, save for the fact that he feels hot and uncomfortable. When the glass is set in front of him, only then does Noctis realize just how thirsty he is, and he tosses back the glass with an urgency. 

Ignis, though, looks a bit like someone told him his cooking sucks and to fuck off. Noctis raises a brow when Ignis steps back a bit stiffly, and sets his glass down. “You okay?” He asks, reaching for the remote. “You’re starting to look worse than me.”

Regardless, Noctis tries to settle, but it isn’t long before he loses the blanket entirely and can’t sit still. He feels hypersensitive, almost, like every material he’s touching is irritating. Every position he tries to lay in makes it worse, each more uncomfortable than the last as his skin seems to just get _tighter_. Downing water by the gallon isn’t helping, either, and Noct can only pray this doesn’t get any worse.

\--

Ignis coughs into his hand. “I assure you, I am quite alright. You, however, need rest. And you need to eat something.” He runs through recipes in his head, because the greasy breakfast he’d made clearly won’t do. “I can make some broth, that should help.”

Except Ignis is growing more and more suspicious that it won’t. Because this isn’t a normal illness. This is a particular kind of illness. And with each passing second, it becomes more and more clear because that _smell_ gets stronger and Ignis grows more tense. It is downright _intoxicating_.

He’s smelled omegas in heat before. It’s always intense and alluring. Always gets him a little warm and ready, as is the nature of biological processes. But this. This is so _so_ different. And while Ignis can’t confirm that Noctis is starting a heat, there is no other real explanation for this.

It’s going to be a long day. Long few days.

He busies himself with preparing a broth for Noctis. This is exactly what he and Gladio were hired to be prepared for and now that it’s actually happening, his mind is going blank. What can he do to help? There are medications but… somehow he doubts Noctis will agree to take them.

Some time later, he works up the nerve to step near enough to place a bowl in front of his charge. “Broth, should be easy on the stomach.” That smell is permeating the entire room by now and Ignis feels like he should excuse himself lest he… do something he can’t take back. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

\--

Ignis is tip-toeing around something, that much is clear. He’s walking around and speaking like someone’s got a gun to his head, and it’s even putting Noctis a bit on edge. Even as Ignis moves through the kitchen, and even as the smell of food starts to drift into the living room, Noct can’t help but be tense because Ignis is.

“Ignis,” Noct says, though not as firmly as he would’ve liked, “You gotta relax. You-- You look freaked out, and it’s freaking me out. You’re making me tense.” He can’t quite place why; but for whatever reason, Ignis is rubbing off on him. It’s like they’re… sharing emotions, almost. Or at least, Noctis is taking notes from Ignis’. 

The younger huffs, sitting up and squirming to get comfortable - in vain, of course. The fabric of his pants and his shirt scratch against him uncomfortably as he reaches for the broth Ignis prepared, and he grimaces. Ugh. “Just… deep breaths or something. Calm down.”

\--

Relax. Take deep breaths. _Oh, Noctis. You have no idea the multitude of reasons why I can’t do those very things._ He doesn’t want to set Noctis on edge though, that is the opposite of what he wants, actually. He just wants Noctis to be comfortable. To ride out this heat without too much pain or discomfort. And to go back to normal when Ignis doesn’t have such a hard time controlling his animalistic urges.

“I assure you, I am quite alright. And so are you, aside from the illness. Try to sleep, I’ll just be in the next room.” Because maybe there the scent won’t be quite so strong. And maybe he can actually relax a bit in the next room. And maybe Ignis is wrong about this being a heat and maybe Noctis really is just ill.

And maybe he’s deluding himself.

He takes as graceful a few steps as he humanly can to the door before closing it behind him. And then immediately sinking down to the floor with his back pressed up against the wood. His head is spinning and it feels a little fuzzy. He can still smell Noctis, although whether he is actually smelling him or just remembering the scent, he can’t tell. But it has him swallowing hard, wishing he’d grabbed a glass of water for himself.

Ignis doesn’t even register when he starts rocking his hips up into empty air. It’s a motor response. Pure instinct. It has nothing to do with the boy in the other room beyond his biological drive to mate. That’s what he tells himself anyway.

But that _smell_.

God. It’s a musk with a touch of citrus. Warm pastry in a gentle breeze. But also something dirtier. Sweat and feral hormones and everything Ignis finds even remotely attractive balled up into one smell that has him reeling.

Maybe he should call Gladio to take his place for a few days…

\--

Ignis’ reassurances do absolutely nothing to ease Noctis, but he tries to relax anyways. He hardly touches his soup, because it superheats his insides where they’re already warm; It makes him feel uneasy, makes him feel like his temperature is uncontrollable. Even when he decides not to eat, even when Noctis decides not to lay a blanket over himself, he’s still so _damn hot_. 

Hot, and uncomfortable. Dizzy. Hypersensitive to the littlest things, from the breeze of the overhead fan to the feeling of the couch under him. And, if anything he’s heard from Prompto is correct, he knows all these symptoms don’t bode well. Noctis also knows that if this what he thinks it is, this is only the damn beginning. 

Ignis is out of the room, and already, Noctis wants him back. He just wants to feel his presence, wants to see him, _smell_ him. There’s no real rhyme or reason, and that tugs at the back of Noct’s mind, only further driving him up a damn wall. It’s driving him absolutely insane, and though he knows Ignis is probably away for his _own_ well being at this point, the younger can’t help but call for him. He wants to be held, for no real particular reason, held and cared for and touched. Whispered to. He can hear Ignis’ smooth voice in the back of his head, and oh _god_ this is getting worse by the second. “Ignis,” he calls for a second time, “Come out here. _Please_.”

\--

Fuck.

Ignis isn’t fond of harsh profanity, but the situation calls for it when Noctis calls for him. Or rather, _whines_ for him. Ignis knows it’s a bad idea to go out there. He knows things are likely to happen. _It’s not even that bad yet_.

But Ignis is also a very weak man. And a nurturer by nature. And Noctis sounds feeble and wrecked and like he needs help. It’s hard to stand, but Ignis does it. His hand shakes as he reaches for the doorknob, but he still turns it. And the scent is _overwhelming_ when he steps back into the same room as him.

Still, he forces himself to look at Noctis. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat. He’s probably quite warm. This is definitely heat, there’s no denying it now. “Yes, Noctis?” His voice is strained and he’s wound so tight he’s ready to break. But he will do his job if it kills him.

\--

This is the most pathetic Noctis has ever felt in his life. Laying on the couch an emotional and physical mess, reaching for Ignis like he’s the only hope for a cure. Which, at this point, he probably is, but the one rational bit still left of Noct’s mind is praying. He just wants Ignis close, wants to feel the alpha’s skin against his own. Wants to listen to the sound of his heartbeat and take in his scent, lay with him and share _something_. 

But Noctis needs Ignis. The longer that man stands there, the less he wants and more he _needs_. The more physical and intense the need becomes. “Just-- Just lay with me, I feel-- I feel miserable, Ignis,” he Noct can’t stop saying his name. It’s familiar, the only thing that seems to have stayed the same. Comforting. “I don’t-- I feel _weird_.”

\--

Arms outstretched and Christ Ignis wants to fall into those arms and mark that boy and make him his and his alone. He wants to ravage his body, hold him close and never let go. It’s a terribly sinful desire, one he certainly should not be having about his charge. But that doesn’t seem to matter in this moment.

Not when Noctis _begs_ him to lay with him.

It’s so sweet and so broken and so desperate and it all comes together into a nearly spellbinding command. Ignis is hopeless to resist. But he can still try, while his mind can still work, as he walks toward the couch. “Noctis, do you know what’s happening?” Has he been told of the heat? What it can make him do, how it will make him feel? Has he been told that consent becomes a non issue after a certain point?

Still though, Ignis’ feet drag him forward until he’s standing at the couch. He gingerly perches himself on the edge and reaches out a hand, trying not to breathe in too deeply even though he craves it. His hand pushes Noctis’ sweat soaked bangs off his forehead. “Do you know what this is?”

\--

Noctis wants to say yes. He wants to say he knows he’s going into heat, he wants to say he’s been prepared for this. Wants to say that the little things Prompto has told him in the past has covered it all, but that would be a lie. He knows he’s gonna be… uncomfortable, need to be cared for. Beyond that, though, Noctis is a bit clueless. So he shakes his head, trying to keep calm. “No. I-I mean, kind of, just--”

That’s as far as he gets through his sentence. He sighs, Ignis’ touch almost _relieving_ , and Noctis wants to lean into it. “Just come _here_ already.”

It’s so hot, and it’s getting hotter every second. He can feel himself sweating, now, can feel it collecting at his temples and making his hair stick. Noctis’ legs, now, are starting to feel weak, and everything is just getting more and more miserable.

\--

Oh Noctis feels so nice. Just his skin under his fingers feels like a special kind of heaven. He’s soft and he smells so _bloody_ good. “This is… this is the start of your first heat.” Ignis voice still sounds strained but he’s trying. “It’s going to- going to be hard. There are medications, if you would prefer…”

He trails off as he’s pulled down by some force to lay down with Noctis. It takes a moment to get into a position so they are both comfortable, but eventually, Ignis lays with Noctis against his chest. “I can try to help but… You know that this will be hard for both of us. That we’ll both have… urges.” Ignis sighs and his senses are _filled_ with that sweet sweet smell. “You won’t be… yourself. You don’t have to do anything, that’s what Gladio and I are for, to keep everything under control.”

Though, that requires keeping himself under control first. And he isn’t sure if he can manage that at this point. But he will try, for all he’s worth. And if he fails… well, he hopes Regis gives him a swift death.

\--

Feeling Ignis near is relaxing. Noctis can smell him, feel him beneath his fingers, and everything about that is calming. He buries his nose in Ignis’ shirt, regretting deep down that the fabric is in the way. He nods, though, his guardian’s words heard but not listened to. “Just stay,” Noct says for the hundredth time, “Stay.”

Something feels… Warm, between his legs. Wet and slick, he reddens, biting back a sad whimper. His sanity is slipping, slowly, and all he can focus on is the feel of Ignis’ skin under his hands, he feeling of his shirt balled up in his fists to keep grounded. Noctis is sure this is it, this is the peak; because if it isn’t, he’s sure he’ll die.

The heat fades with Ignis’ touch, but it ignites again just as quickly. Noctis wants to beg for contact, wants to beg for Ignis’ fingers in his hair and all over, protective. Alpha possessive. But he stays quiet, using the last threads of his sanity to stay that way.

\--

Ignis just pets him. It’s an action he feels compelled to do and it staves off the pressing need to _take_ at least a little. It lets his mind be a little clearer. It makes him feel like he’s helping without falling prey to his urges. Like he’s doing his job without betraying the trust he’s been given.

Noctis feels like he’s burning up. And those nurturing instincts start to take over and have Ignis trying to do what little he can to alleviate the fever. “I’m not going anywhere. I can call Gladio and have him bring the medication if you want.”

He can feel the dampness begin to soak through Noctis’ pants. This heat is really coming on fast. And powerful. And god that _smell_. Ignis could live off that smell. He has to force himself to keep himself still and not rut against Noctis. It wouldn’t be… appropriate.

\--

Noctis shakes his head just barely; anything that would make Ignis move is something that can’t happen. He squirms, trying to get comfortable and rid himself of the discomfort that comes with being _wet_. Ignis smells good, Ignis feels good, and the fingers in his hair are so nice.

“Ignis,” Noctis whispers, clinging to his guardian like it’s the only thing holding him down. His name is the only thing that makes sense through the haze of pure _need_ , the only thing that has any true meaning. “Ignis, _it’s so hot_.”

Noctis is wet and slick between his legs and _hot_ and uncomfortable everywhere else. The fabric of Ignis’ dress shirt is starting to more noticeably aggravate, so he does the only thing he can think of - goes for the buttons to remove it, bring them closer.

\--

“I know, Noctis. I know.” He hopes his words are enough to help, because he knows there is nothing else that can. Opening the window will just give him a chill and an actual fever. And with the way Noctis is clinging to him, he’s pretty sure he can’t get up to do anything anyway. Not that he really wants to. Despite the discomfort of extreme heat and the dampness, Ignis really enjoys this. He likes having Noctis curled against him, clinging desperately.

Somehow, instinct makes Ignis snatch at Noctis’ wrists when he goes for his buttons, though. Somehow, he stops him from shedding the clothing between us. “Noctis. This is becoming very dangerous very fast. There will come a point when stopping is no longer an option.” It’s the clearest his mind and his voice have been since he stepped into the room. He doesn’t want to take advantage and he doesn’t want to betray the trust Regis has in him. This is his job, not some lonely omega whore that wants a quick knot to stifle the heat.

Ignis relaxes the grip he realises is quite hard on Noctis’ wrists. He gently moves his hands back before releasing him and returning to petting through his hair and rubbing his back in gentle circles.

\--

Noctis wonders if not stopping would really be the worst thing ever.

The idea of both of them pressed together completely naked, doing nothing but touching and feeling and not _thinking_ sounds more beneficial than anything else. The grip Ignis has on his wrists doesn’t register, not truly, and he can only look at Ignis with a glossy, too-far gone look. “So?” Noct mutters, “Just-- It’s _uncomfortable_ , I can’t relax.”

It’s hot, Noctis is starting to soak through his pants, and the only thing he can think of is _touching_. 

Running his hands over Ignis’ chest, feeling Ignis’ hands all over him. That second thought is what has Noct _reeling_ , though, and it makes the slick between his legs even more present. He knows he’s hard, he can tell, but he doesn’t care. There’s no embarrassment about it, or even hardly a second thought besides the fact that he’s definitely, definitely hard. _Nothing_ is registering besides Ignis and their skin pressed together. “Ignis. _Help me_.”

\--

Ignis knew this was a bad idea. That things would happen and neither of them would have the strength to stop it. Maybe he really should call Gladio. He’s sure he’s capable of overpowering Noctis enough to extract himself.

But that sounds like far more effort that Ignis is really willing to put forth. Especially when it just feels so _nice_ to lay here with Noctis. And listening to that whining that makes Ignis want to kiss him quiet and listen to him whine for other reasons. He can feel Noctis’ slick though his pants, and he can see he’s painfully hard. Not that Ignis is all that much better off.

He smells so goddamn good. It is literally the sweetest scent Ignis has ever come across in his entire life. It’s still making Ignis’ head spin and it reminds him he is a terribly weak man.

He wants to help. He wants to help this little omega and make him feel better. Make him feel _good_. Why isn’t he? Why did he think this was a bad idea? It couldn’t be when they clearly both want it, when he smells so good, feels so enticing. Maybe he can give in, at least a little.

His hand on Noctis’ back reaches for his wrist and guides his hand back to his chest. A silent grant of permission.

_Fuck_.

\--

Something about Ignis granting Noctis permission makes him nearly giddy. He quickly goes to undo the rest of the buttons on Ignis’ shirt, and tosses it haphazardly over the couch to be dealt with later. His own comes next, because he needs to be close. 

But even with those out of the way, it doesn’t feel like enough. This isn’t close enough, and it makes Noctis whine in the back of his throat as he drops his head into the crook of Ignis’ neck. He nuzzles him softly, nearly begging for more contact, because he’s so wildly understimulated. Understimulated, but overstimulated all the same; Like there’s not enough Ignis, and too much of everything else.

Noctis is panting, that much is noticeable even now. “ _Help me_ ,” he begs, hardly even knowing how he wants to be helped. He just knows he wants to be held, wants to…

Oh. 

He wants to be fucked.

Noctis supposes he knew that all along. He supposes that this isn’t an entirely new realization, but only now is it really clicking - he wants to be _that_ close. Wants to be fucked, held, whispered to by _no one else_ besides Ignis. “Ignis, _Ignis, please_.”

\--

Chest to chest, skin to skin. Ignis’ mind is absolutely gone. It feels too good, but he only wants _more_. And Noctis is just here, willing. _Begging_. And so utterly beautiful. He nuzzles at the spot under his ear, where his scent is strongest, and nearly drowns in it. A low moan escapes his throat and he is filled with a wild need.

Ignis’ hands travel over Noctis’ skin, sliding easily through the wetness. He doesn’t dip down very low, however much he longs to. Somewhere inside he’s still trying to resist the pull. The sweet embrace of hormones and lust. His protective drive is full blown and he’s pretty sure that if someone were to walk in he would actually kill them. No matter who it was.

“Noct-” Ignis sounds completely foreign to himself. His voice has dropped considerably and it’s low and husky and he’s out of breath despite only having laid here. His body is nearly shaking with the need to claim, but somehow, his mind is holding him together enough that he keeps his hands roaming, scratching lightly. He’s placing his mouth to skin, open mouthed, teeth gently scraping. But it’s still innocent. He can still come back from this.

\--

Noctis’ mind is fuzzy, unable to form any kind of coherent thought. He’s pliant and immediately exposes his neck to Ignis, shutting his eyes and exhaling. The sudden scrape of teeth against his neck makes him shiver and moan quietly. He pulls back just for a split second, long enough to look his guardian in the face before pressing their lips together.

He feels like he’s on _fire_. Ignis’ lips are soft and warm, and they feel so incredibly right on his own. Both hands come up to his cheeks, and Noctis bites and licks and sighs, needy. He’s still hot, still sweating bullets, but the further he goes, the lower the heat seems to burn. 

His hands move mechanically to Ignis’ belt. Noctis isn’t thinking, just moving, and it feels good to obey the urges. He can focus on nothing else but touch, feeling, and an impossible closeness only being knotted can provide. “Ignis,” he whines for the _thousandth_ time, “Ignis.”

\--

Noctis feels so good beneath his fingers. His skin tastes like the sweetest pastry. And he’s so pliant, willing, moving to accommodate Ignis’ movements. And then he kisses him and all chance of innocence melts away with the taste of his lips. His sanity leaves him and is replaced by instinct and _need_. He deepens the kiss, licking into Noctis’ mouth and pulling him impossibly closer. Maybe if he tries hard enough, they can melt together into one.

When Noctis reaches for his belt, he grabs his wrists again. But this time, it isn’t a denial of permission. _He_ wants to do it himself. So he wraps Noctis’ wrists together in one hand and uses the other to fumble with his belt and then the buttons of their trousers. It’s probably awkward and it probably takes longer than necessary, but Ignis doesn’t care. His mind is gone.

He pushes down both their trousers as much as he can and moans outright at the heat of skin against skin. His nerves feel like live electricity running through his whole body. “Noctis…” he breathes, voice full of lust and need and this wonderful protective instinct. Noctis is wet and slick fills the space between his legs and it just makes Ignis want more.

\--

Noctis occupies himself with placing absent and patternless kisses wherever he can reach as Ignis works at their pants, clearly just as eager as he is. He’s quick to beg, quick to try to grind his hips against Ignis’ for relief. And he finds it, even if brief, and the shock of pleasure that runs through him makes him gasp loudly.

“Fuck me,” Noctis says bluntly against Ignis’ mouth, “Take me, _mate me_ , Ignis, do it do it do it--” He’s rambling, and he knows it. But he wants this, wants Ignis. Wants his alpha. Wants to be knotted. “ _Please_ , please please please.” 

He’s too far gone to care about his shameless begging. Too far gone to care that he sounds like a greedy whore, too gone to care that he must look like an absolute mess. Noct only cares now about the man touching him, taking him. The alpha whose scent and presence dominates him fully.

\--

Ignis’ entire world narrows down to Noctis. The rest of the room is fuzzy and barely there because the only thing that matters is Noctis. His breathing, his gasping, his begging and pleading. It all urges him on and makes him desperate. The only words that run through his head now are ‘Noctis’ and ‘mate.’

He needs to mate him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers that he didn’t want this for some reason. But now, the idea is completely preposterous. Why wouldn’t he want this? Noctis is beautiful, pliant, ready, willing, and he smells incredible. It’s like Noctis has his own special brand of cologne meant just for Ignis.

Ignis reaches down and hikes one of Noctis’ legs over his hip before reaching down, down, until his fingers are sliding in the thick layer of slick. He doesn’t pause until his finger finds that little hole, tight and quivering. His finger circles the rim gently while he mouths at Noctis’ skin, marking him with his mouth and leaving bruises now and then. He pays the most attention to right beneath his ears though. Where he’s sensitive and the scent is strongest. Bites down there, promising they can never return from this.

“You’re so pretty like this, Noct.” For the first time, Ignis uses the informal address. “I want you.”

\--

Noctis moans, long and drawn out, spreading his legs as far as he can on the couch. He’s shaking beneath Ignis, nearly violently, and he clings to his guardian with both hands. Noct’s nails are leaving little crescent-shaped marks in his shoulders, but that doesn’t fully register, now. “Take me then,” he breathes, trying to push back against Ignis’ fingers. “Take me, take me, take me please--”

Noctis can feel slick running down his thighs, and getting everywhere. But he doesn’t care, not with the way Ignis’ mouth leaves a trail of fire all over his skin. No matter where he’s touched, it doesn’t feel like enough, and he’s seconds from throwing Ignis on his back and taking what he wants instead of waiting for it to be given. 

The heat Noctis has been burning under seems to fade just a bit as Ignis’ fingers push into him, and he arches, clinging to the other desperately with pleas of _more_ , faster, harder. Between those pleas, Noct can only spit out butchered syllables of Ignis’ name, head thrown back and hair stuck to his forehead and temples.

\--

Ignis hardly waits before pushing his finger into Noctis after the begging starts up again. He wouldn’t want to tease the poor omega, now would he. He slides in easily due to the slick pooling around their legs. Ignis moans against Noctis’ skin at the mere feeling of his finger being enveloped. He can only imagine how good it will be when he knots him.

It takes almost no time before Ignis pushes in a second finger. And then a third. Noctis seems to instinctively know to relax. Stretching him out is quick and easy and Ignis only brushes against his prostate to see how he’ll react.

When he pulls his fingers away from Noctis, he’s hungry with need and running on animalistic urges. He pushes himself up to rearrange their positions, so that he’s kneeling between Noctis’ thighs and Noct is laying open and vulnerable on his back. Ignis lifts one leg up onto his shoulder before pausing. He takes in the image of this beautiful omega, ready and waiting for him. The beautiful body he is going to claim as his forever more.

\--

Ignis’ fingers are magic, they’re dizzying and distracting, and Noctis can’t find the will or gather the effort to try to silence himself. He can only pant, arch and grind down, begging and pleading for something he’s yet to receive. Eventually, the burn of the heat stops being sated and seems to have been lit impossibly hotter.

Noctis can feel the sweat dripping down from his temples, but he doesn’t care. It all feels too good, especially when Ignis’ fingers brush that _spot_ , and he damn near yells his pleasure. He can’t be quiet, he doesn’t _want_ to be quiet. Noct wants to show his alpha just how much he loves what’s being done to him.

He keeps his grip on Ignis firm, because he’s one-hundred percent sure that his hold is the only thing keeping him down to earth. The leg over his guardian’s shoulder keeps him better grounded, and he looks up with half lidded eyes and red cheeks. He can’t catch his breath, he can hardly do _anything_ except let pitiful whimpers of ‘please, help me, do it’ pass through his lips.

\--

Those little whines push Ignis on. He rocks forward slowly, painfully slowly. He wants to slam and take but he also doesn't want to hurt Noctis. He wants him to enjoy it.

But feeling that warm, wet heat around his cock has him seeing stars already. When he's bottomed out, it takes a monumental effort to pause and make sure Noct is relaxed and ready.

And then he chooses a quick but deep pace.

Ignis leans down over Noct, placing love bites everywhere. But the bites change to words and he loses himself in a litany of Noctis’ name and ‘ _mine_.’ Noctis is _his_. Only his, forever more. His omega, his charge, his love. He feels his overwhelming protective urge each over him and it forces his hips forward a little harder, pounding against Noctis and moaning for that sweet release.

\--

This is… an intensely new feeling. Noctis feels full, dizzier than he has the entire time he’s been laid here, but antsy. Accommodating Ignis isn’t too hard, not when he’s absolutely delirious and wet nearly down to his knees, so the starting pace is easy to take.

But it soon becomes dull. The heat fades like it did with his fingers, but it comes back with a vengeance, aching for something more. “Knot me, Ignis, knot me knot me--” He hardly knows what he’s saying, but it feels like the right thing. The words feel perfect rolling off his tongue, and so does the endless stream of his guardian’s name. One hand keeps digging into Ignis’ shoulder as the other threads fingers through ashy brown hair, gripping tightly. 

It doesn’t take long at all to get Noctis close, not with how Ignis is so carefully paying attention to the spots that make his head spin. He comes with a whined sob of “ _Ignis_ ,” and scrambles for purchase when he feels Ignis’ knot inside of him. 

But it finally, finally, puts out the fire. 

Left a shaking mess of slick and sweat, Noct clings to Ignis, hardly noting the mess of red lines he’d left all down his back.

\--

Ignis feels Noctis clench around him as he comes and it sends Ignis over the edge to bliss. His knot swells and his cock twitches as he fills his little omega up. He pants against Noctis’ neck, nuzzling his skin, as they come down.

The scent dissipates some. It doesn't go away, but it becomes more tolerable. Less lust inducing as Ignis feels a warmth spread in his chest. He shifts carefully, trying not to pull at Noctis with his swollen knot. A hand cards through nearly soaked hair. “Mine.”

Suddenly, all his energy seems to leave him at once and he has to force himself to stay propped up enough not to squish Noctis. He nuzzles his nose into the crook between his neck and shoulder. “Noct…”

He has so many things he wants to say. You're beautiful, you were so good, your father is going to kill me. _I love you_. But all the words seem to stick in his throat. So instead, he just exhales the omega’s name once more as he peppers soft kisses on his skin.

\--

The fire is extinguished to embers, leaving smoke in its wake. Noctis winces trying to move; with Ignis still being inside him, it is terribly clear he isn’t going anywhere. The haze begins to clear, and the delirium lifts slowly, leaving the omega’s mind just a little bit sharper. 

His first coherent sentence made with thought is, “I’m not complaining, but my dad is gonna _lose his mind_.”

Truly, it wasn’t an unpleasant experience. In fact, there’s no one else Noctis would’ve rathered; to be mated to Ignis, to be his omega… isn’t so awful at all. It might be the afterglow of sex talking, and it might be the still lingering heat, but Noct is glad it turned out this way. “...Thanks, Specs.”

\--

Ignis turns his head to kiss at Noct’s jaw. “He’s going to kill me. I hope you enjoyed this, this is likely my last week on this Earth.” He says it with a tinge of dry humour, but he is legitimately afraid of that outcome. He’s betrayed a trust Regis placed in him. To protect and keep alphas away from his son. He was supposed to be a shield to prevent this very thing from happening, not the aggressor.

But there’s no point in dwelling on the future. Not with Noctis bound so completely to him and looking so lovely. Not when he doesn’t regret anything that’s happened. Even now that the haze of lust and need has worn away. He realises that despite the consequences, real or imagined, he’s quite pleased that this happened.

He loves Noctis.

It may have taken a heat and an impromptu coupling to realise it, but it’s been true for some time. He cares deeply for him. Loves him. The quiet thanks from his omega- _his_ omega-surprises him. And the surprise or the shock, or maybe something else, makes him fumble and blurt out his last thought. “I love you.”

\--

Noctis laughs quietly, his voice raspy from the amount of noise he’d just been making. Ignis has a point; his dad will well and truly be upset when he smells Ignis’ scent all over him, but… ah, what the hell. Gladio mated Prompto, and no one screamed about _that_.

Noct blinks at Ignis’ confession, and he flushes. But it still makes him happy, still fills his chest with butterflies, and he can’t help but put both hands on the sides of Ignis’ face. “Love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [twitter](http://www.teitter.com/playingchello).


End file.
